Pleasant Dreams
by Cocobunny79
Summary: While Harry sleeps, Tom Riddle contemplates how Harry Potter defeated him that night at Godric's Hollow.


A/N: Whoa! A TomxHarry fic! There's not that much fic of these two, its ridiculous. So, as a newly converted fan of the pairing, I thought I would contribute with my share. Anyway, about the story. There is something I have to clarify since there didn't seem to be much room to put it in the actual plot. This was an idea a friend and I had, when Voldemort showed up at Harry's home and intended to kill him, he transferred a bit of his soul into Harry, making him his Horcrux, right? The Horcrux that appears in this story is Tom Riddle himself. Yeah, it would've made sense for him to be Voldemort, but my friend and I had thrown logic aside and just made him seventeen again. Yeah. You gotta love it, lol. Moving on though, I hope that made sense and I hope you guys enjoy the story. And review! We writers have a maddening thirst for them you know.

PS: Just so I'm clear, Riddle is not **_solid_**. He's transparent, like a ghost. So all the touching he's doing, isn't necessarily "touching", since there's no real weight. Maybe a slight uncomfortable, you can't explain ghostly, brush against skin but that's it. I could've added this in the storyline, but I couldn't bear to break the pacing, so I'm adding it here in my author's note instead. Hope you guys don't mind terribly?

Okay, NOW I'm done, rambling. You guys can go ahead and read now. (smiles)

* * *

Harry Potter laid curled up on his small cot, his back against me. The boy was sleeping, the messy strands of his hair concealing the scar on his forehead. Lifting a finger, I lightly traced the puckered skin. Feeling the shape of the scar, shaped like a lightening bolt, etched on his skin.

Anger flooded through me.

How is it that such a scrawny, pathetic little boy, with no extraordinary magical powers was able to defeat the greatest sorcerer in the world? How is it, that this mere twig of a boy was able to defeat me?

It should not have been possible, yet, here he was. Tucked safe in the covers, stowed away in a cupboard beneath the stairs, he slept without the slightest idea of the damage he had done to me. Nothing I have come up can explain to me why he is alive, while I am nothing more than a mere shadow of my former self. Why his parents fell easily to my hand, but he did not.

I remember the night clearly.

On the night of Hollow's Eve, I appeared in Godric's Hollow, prepared to end the life of the boy that was supposedly to end me. I had scoffed at the prophecy Snape had informed me. How ridiculous it had seemed. But as I have learned, prophecies are never to be taken lightly. I did not want to take any chances. And the idea that a mere young boy was foretold to do battle with the strongest wizard on Earth was enough to push me into action.

I did not want to be bound by the words of the prophecy, and I refused to play by fate's hands. I would go to the Potter's home, and put an end to destiny's poor joke.

Once I knew their location, their protective spells were not enough to keep me out. I killed the father first; how foolish he had been to confront me without a wand. I took enjoyment in the fear on his face, before he fell to the floor. The mother had closed the door, her distinct cries muffled. Did she think a door would keep me out?

The mother shielded the boy behind her body, and begged me to take her instead of her son. I told her that I would spare her life if she would give up the boy. Harder, she cried, begging me to spare him. I gave her one last chance, but when she did not relent, I killed her too.

With her out of the way, there was nothing standing between me and the child. The child had sat up, and eyed me with the same green eyes that had belonged to his mother. I had smiled at him, and the poor little fool had smiled back. And that was the last I remember before I raised my wand and found myself falling into oblivion. When at last I became aware, I found myself at the doorstep of a muggle home, with the boy tucked away in a bundle of blankets, clutching onto a thick envelope with familiar slanted writing. The realization of what had happened had hit me hard that I was not aware of the time wearing away until the boy's muggle aunt screamed at the discovery of her nephew at her doorstep.

Ever since then, I have been following this boy (with little choice), watching him grow from a one year old child, to a thin and helpless six year old, under the abusive eye of his caretakers.

Every time I look at this boy, I feel nothing but frustration, resentment, and anger at him.

In just a single night, he had taken decades of accumulated power from me, and for what? For merely existing? Leaving the destroyed house of his parents with nothing more but a cursed scar upon his head; while I had to flee into the night. I refuse to believe that this boy could have gotten rid of me for good. My very existence, no matter how transparent, is proof enough.

My fingers fall from his forehead, gently stroking his small cheeks, feeling the boy's cheekbones as he shivered lightly from the touch, as I finally rest at his throat. I can feel the pulse beneath my fingers. Gripped by the sudden urge, I gently turn the boy over onto his back and lift myself above him. My hands enclose around his throat, squeezing lightly. His breath hitched, and I squeezed a little harder.

How easy it would be to end him now. Helpless he is, and completely unawares. I only think of how merciful it would be to kill him in his sleep, when he cannot suffer.

My grip eased.

No.

I must not kill him. I _want_ him to suffer. I want to put him through pain. He must pay for his crimes. And who knows, maybe he will be of use to me someday.

The boy's breathing calmed and I released my hand from his neck, gently stroking where I have nearly suffocated him. He shifts in his sleep, and I run my hand through his hair.

I smiled at him.

Yes. This boy will be the key to my return to power. He has a destiny ahead of him that he must fulfill. And it falls in my hands to keep him along that path. He does not know what awaits him, but I do.

I place my lips at his ear, and whispered softly, "Pleasant dreams, Harry Potter. May you live a long and happy future."

The boy beneath me shuddered.


End file.
